


The Baker

by another_Hero



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 05:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_Hero/pseuds/another_Hero
Summary: Back at the car, he slid the pizzas and ice cream into the back seat and climbed in front and handed the lemonade and the cookies to David. He still wasn’t sure whether he meant them as a sweet reminder or a petulant declaration that he cared about how David felt, but it was definitely one or the other.





	The Baker

**Author's Note:**

> This went a little off the rails and I don't care enough to try to fix it or uh edit it but it should meet some Want New Fic needs lol

It happened in the car on the way back from a vendor visit. Usually David made those himself, if there were choices to be made, or one of them went alone for the pickups while the other ran the store. But there had been no way around scheduling this trip for a Sunday, and Patrick had thought it might be nice to keep him company.

The vendor was a baker, and she and David had managed to talk through shelf lives and delivery logistics and packaging to be able to sell it in the store and make some decisions for an initial run. David was remarkably conservative, hesitant about waste in the perishable items that couldn’t be sold on a consignment model, and Patrick stood back willingly and let him take the reins. Patrick always felt proud watching David with vendors: he was charming and confident and full of his love for the store, clear in his goals and so sure of himself when he was making aesthetic choices. His enthusiasm about the bread was genuine. But he hadn’t managed to make up his mind about the sweets: he would love to sell a few, but right across the street from the café? And were brownies—no matter how delicious Mara’s were—too ordinary? But were financiers too _foreign_ for Schitt’s Creek? They couldn’t just be kept in stock for weeks, after all. David loved them all, but then, David loved sweets, and he seemed to be having trouble deciding how far to follow his own taste. He texted a few pictures to Alexis and asked her opinion.

“And what do you plan to do with her opinion?” Patrick asked, fully aware that the answer was _nothing at all_.

“Okay, Alexis is _sad_ right now. I’m just trying to give her something to think about!”

“Oh, and you don’t care what _I_ think about it?”

“Patrick, I care very much what you think, but—no, not about this, no.”

“Okay,” said Patrick, “because _I’d_ say I trust your judgment when it comes to selecting things for the store, and if you think it’s worth a try, I’m in.”

They’d left Mara’s 20 minutes ago, and as far as Patrick could tell, David was still flipping through the pictures on his phone. Alexis had just replied with some sparkle emojis, which Patrick was not surprised to hear was an unhelpful response. But David—David _knew_ what he liked, and his decisions about inventory had been impressive so far: when Patrick doubted him, Patrick was almost always proven wrong.

So that was what Patrick meant when he slid his right hand onto David’s thigh and said—and when he replayed it in his mind later, he’d be sure his tone had been all amusement—“Do you think maybe you’re making this just a little more difficult than it needs to be?”

He expected David to reply in kind, that he was making this exactly as difficult as it needed to be, even that Patrick wasn’t making it difficult enough. But David didn’t say anything. Patrick still didn’t get it, really, until he glanced over and saw the forced casual look on David’s face, his eyebrows lifted but not high enough to scrunch his forehead, his eyes fixed on the top edge of the windshield.

“Sorry,” said Patrick, and he meant it, a good first-grade apology. “I don’t—I think whatever choice you make will be the right one.”

He had to look at the road, but David did the kind of shrug you could _feel_ from next to him. “I can be easy,” he said, his tone all studied nonchalance. “I have before. I don’t think you’d like it.”

“I think you’re right,” said Patrick. “Hey, we’re almost back to town. Want to pick up a frozen pizza, or would you rather go to the café?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe you.”

“I only want—” David danced two fingers toward the waistband of Patrick’s jeans. He undid the button.

Patrick brought his right hand up to the steering wheel. “David, that’s not safe.”

He undid the zipper.

“David. That’s not cute.”

He stopped immediately.

“Mm, just take me home, then. I’ll take care of you there.”

So _this_ was a fun new side of David. Conceptually he’d known, sure, that David had had a life full of the kinds of people who thought it was high-maintenance to want a glass of water—practically, in other areas of their lives, he knew it could still be hard for David to know and say what he wanted, if it really mattered to him. But it would never have occurred to Patrick to apply that to the ordering of cookies. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t think.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Still the same studied-casual voice.

“David—” He knew sounding frustrated wasn’t going to help, but also, _David_ sure as hell wasn’t helping.

“Patrick.” He said it with an edge of teasing in his voice, which was a bit of a relief, but not enough for Patrick to find it funny. He parked far enough away from the grocery store to be able to button his pants.

David didn’t get out of the car; Patrick didn’t try to make him. “Do you want anything?” he said through the window.

“No, thanks,” David said with a placid smile. Patrick pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose and went inside. He let himself do a slow blink, once he got into the store, and make tight claws of his hands, just for a moment. This was _much_ more than the necessary reaction. He hadn’t even said _David_ was difficult—okay, so he’d pressed a button he hadn’t meant to press, or wanted to, one he usually tried _not_ to press, even. But David knew that Patrick found him charming when he was particular. And Patrick had to get his groceries, and he had to act normal in the grocery store, because there was no going unnoticed within ten miles any direction of Schitt’s Creek.

He got two pepperoni pizzas, thought better of it, and got two more to keep in the freezer. He grabbed a little single-serving bottle of lemonade and a box of the most waffle-like cookies he could find, and then a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream, for later. Back at the car, he slid the pizzas and ice cream into the back seat and climbed in front and handed the lemonade and the cookies to David. He still wasn’t sure whether he meant them as a sweet reminder or a petulant declaration that he cared about how David felt, but it was definitely one or the other.

“Is it over now? Your cute game?”

“Mm,” said David through a cookie, and even with David looking at him, Patrick felt his lips twitch. “Yes, it is. Thank you.”

“Good.” Patrick started the car. “I didn’t like it.”

“I know. You’re very predictable.”

 _Says the guy who started being nice the minute someone offered him cookies_ , Patrick wanted to say, but he went with, “That’s probably good.”

“Is it?”

“I mean, maybe I’m biased, but I’d rather you not date anyone who didn’t like you from now on.”

“Mm, but there are—so many options.”

“Oh,” said Patrick, and he was on the road now, so he reached for David’s hand, “are you looking for options?”

“Well, Mara made really good cookies.” Mara was 50. David would say he’d had older.

“But David, she lives so far away.”

“And I don’t think you should tell her this, but she isn’t as pretty as my boyfriend.”

Patrick didn’t want to demand any more of a peace offering, but they were still in the car. He pulled his hand away, kissed his first two fingers, and tapped them against David’s palm. It was merciful of him, Patrick thought, to do it in the car, where David—who would, with any luck, be mildly embarrassed by the gesture—wouldn’t have to perform a response. An affection compromise, of sorts.

David’s phone, he realized now, had been put away. “Did you decide? Or did you give up?”

“I’m gonna go for it. But just a tiny order, one kind a day, on a weekly rotation.”

“That sounds very reasonable, but you know, you probably could have taken _hours_ to decide before Mara woke you up with mad emails.”

“Okay, I know you’re teasing me, but you do _not_ want to deal with me after I get mad emails, so I think this way is better for all of us.”

“I appreciate your concern, David, but I prefer not to think of it as _dealing_ with you.” He waited for the follow-up question. David wouldn’t be able to resist—

“Okay, then what is it?”

“I don’t know, listening to my boyfriend?”

“Sounds fake,” said David, grinning so openly that Patrick could hardly pull his eyes back to the parking lot. “Are these the only cookies we have?”

Patrick noted David’s choice of “we” with some amusement as he parked. “There’s ice cream.” David’s face lit up so fast that Patrick added, “But maybe it can wait until we get inside? You know, where the spoons are?”

David had that closed-mouth, one-sided grin on his face now; it was enough. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“I have faith in you,” said Patrick, and he was out of the car, retrieving the pizzas and the ice cream and closing the door with his leg and fiddling to get his key in the door when David came up behind him.

He took everything but the keys out of Patrick’s hands. Patrick was completely disarmed by the gesture, by David taking responsibility for what Patrick was trying to manage. It happened in the store sometimes, if Patrick had too much on his plate, and David reliably stepped in if Patrick was upset, but it still felt like a gift.

“Thanks.” He held the door for David; they got upstairs and inside and David packed things into the freezer while Patrick preheated the oven and then he turned around and David’s hands were on his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, “I’m sorry I was—whatever. In the car.”

Patrick reached up around David’s neck. It wasn’t their usual configuration—usually David’s arms went under, his over—but it felt good to stretch.  “Yeah, I’m not a big fan of whatever.”

“Good thing we didn’t meet until we did. You’d have hated me.”

Patrick pulled David by the neck and kissed him briefly. “Likewise, I’m sure.”

“I can’t believe you said you trust my judgment.”

“I believe I specified quite a narrow context.” Patrick kissed him again.

“I can think of others.”

“Are you willing to extend the wait for pizza?”

“Oh,” said David, “no, no, I’m not.”

“Okay,” said Patrick, sliding his hands down to David’s chest. “I’m going to go change clothes.”

“Um. I just wanted to say no. I changed my mind.”

Patrick, already out of arm’s reach, kept walking with his head turned back, confident David would follow. “Like I said. Excellent judgment.”


End file.
